


tired of fiction and bound by his ambition

by Felilla



Series: Of the Sun and Moon [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Familiars, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Blood and Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, King Deceit Sanders, Mage Logic | Logan Sanders, Original Character(s), Prince Anxiety | Virgil Sanders, Running Away, Unsympathetic Deceit Sanders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23273014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felilla/pseuds/Felilla
Summary: Virgil makes a mistake.ANDLogan has a vision.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Original Character(s), Logic | Logan Sanders & Original Character(s)
Series: Of the Sun and Moon [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1673521
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	tired of fiction and bound by his ambition

**Author's Note:**

> **Of the Sun and Moon**
> 
> When the King dies and his oldest son ascends to the throne, the country of Masoth is thrown into chaos. Stories of Prince Ophiuchus’s cruel and deceptive nature have spread far and wide throughout the kingdom. And while there are many that stand on the side of the heir, there are also many that believe his younger brother, Virgil, should ascend to the throne. That included the late king himself.
> 
> Virgil promised his father on his deathbed that he would keep the people of Masoth safe. But when he attempts to overtake his brother on the throne, Ophiuchus reveals a dark magic living within him. A magic that leaves Virgil’s own powers crippled and his body injured. He is forced to flee the castle with little more than the clothing on his back and his weak familiar.
> 
> Patton is just an innkeeper. Nothing more. Nothing less. No need to look any further into it. But when an injured man shows up on his doorstep, Patton is forced to face the reality that there is more to him than meets the eye. Because underneath his skin lurks a power that terrifies him, but might be the key to saving the country. First, though, he needs to save the handsome man dying in his inn.
> 
> Roman is a soldier, born and raised to protect the royal family. Then the King unexpectedly dies and the new King gives the decree that Prince Virgil must die. Roman finds himself conflicted for the first time in his life. Because, once upon a time, he called Prince Virgil a friend. It is no surprise to Roman when he is sent to kill Virgil, but he doesn’t know if he can choose between his duty and his friend.
> 
> Logan is a powerful mage, expected to overtake the Grand Master one day. He doubts that the change in power will affect the Order of Mages. That is until he is struck with a violent and vivid vision of the kingdom destroyed and a blue-eyed man and Prince Virgil at the center of it. Against his Master’s wishes, he joins one of the soldiers on his quest to find the prince and prevent the future he saw.
> 
> Four men. All leading different paths find themselves bound together in a fight against an evil that is more ancient than they believe.

[ **tired of fiction and bound by his ambition** ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q6cSVVo0sao)

* * *

To make a promise and break it was the greatest sin. More so than killing. More so than theft and deceit and pride. Yes, there was no greater shame in the country of Masoth.

And that was why two promises echoed in Virgil Solomith’s head as he fled down the stairs of one of the servants’ corridors. Every few steps, his vision flickered and dimmed when pain exploded across his abdomen. One hand was already slick with blood, the other feeling around feebly in the dark. He stumbled along, his breaths short and wet.

He suspected he wouldn't make it through the night.

It didn’t make any sense. He should’ve been able to see through the darkness. The wound in his side should’ve already been healing from years of practice and study. His magic should be powerful enough for that, at least, but the pain was still there and Virgil knew that he was bleeding out. What did Ophiuchus _do_ to him?

Virgil shook his head, glancing back briefly. The hall was too dark to see anything, too much chaos above and around to hear anything. He had never felt more useless. He continued down the well-worn path, boots slipping on tiles smoothed from years of use. It was becoming harder to see, harder to breathe, but he forced himself forward.

Down. Down. Down. He focused solely on the motion of going downwards, on following the winding stairs, on the promises rattling around in his head.

The first was a promise he made, not so long ago, in a dark room where the curtains were drawn and the air smelled of potion.

And the second had been made only minutes before, in a destroyed throne room, by his only brother.

Virgil knew that only one of the two promises could be fulfilled.

He paused, coughing violently until his clean hand was coated with sticky blood, dark almost black in the dim light. He shuffled forward a little faster.

It wasn’t long until he caught sight of the moonlight through one of the doors, but he could already feel his body giving up on him. He ran the last couple of steps, nearly tripping over himself, and emerged into the stable. One of the older guards was already there with a saddled horse and reins in her hands. A hunting dog sat next to her, ears at the ready, head swiveling around.

The guard’s eyes widened when she saw Virgil.

“My lord!” Faustine exclaimed as she rushed towards him.

She looked just as terrified as Virgil felt, though years of practice had limited the fear to just her eyes. Faustine had been a guard as long as Virgil had been alive. She’d been a friend to Virgil’s father and to Virgil himself. And Virgil knew she was going to die tonight.

Virgil just shook his head, pressing forward. “I need to leave,” he managed to bite out through heaving breaths. 

“Your brother?” Faustine uttered, her eyes widening. Her gaze shifted to the wound on Virgil’s side, but she didn’t say anything.

“ _Lives_ ,” Virgil choked out. _Father, I have failed you_.

Faustine wrapped her cloak around the wound, ignoring Virgil’s protests. “You’re no use to anyone if you bleed out,” she said as she cinched the makeshift tourniquet.

With the help of Faustine, Virgil climbed up onto the horse. The jostling only served to make him bleed faster, but the cloth seemed to be holding for now. The gelding was not his own black mare, of course, that would be too obvious. Faustine handed Virgil a black cloak and he draped it over himself wearily. 

“Will you make it, my lord?” she asked.

He nodded despite feeling his body bob with fatigue and pain and something much worse. He tugged the hood over his head. “I just need-” he broke off with a cough, blood exploding out onto the horse’s mane. The blood was no longer red, but a dark ruddy brown. Not normal. Not good. “ _Fortune._ ”

A sleek black cat emerged from the shadows. She wound through the stable, her steps slower and more lethargic than they should’ve been, and jumped up onto the horse. The horse didn’t react, just trotted in place a couple of times. “Fortune,” Virgil breathed out in relief with the barest smile.

Fortune crawled onto Virgil’s lap, careful of his wound, and blinked up at him with eyes too intelligent for a normal animal. He scratched behind her ear, leaving a trail of blood. She didn't say anything and the implication tore through Virgil. He reached for the bond between them; fraying, but still as strong as steel cable. Fortune flattened her ears against her head with a hiss.

Shouts and the sound of horns caught Virgil’s attention. He turned with great difficulty to see the doors to the main chamber cracking open. Soon, the stables would be flooded with guardsmen and the calvary. And Virgil would be killed on sight. 

“Go,” Faustine said. Beside her, her familiar bristled, growling at the approaching troops.

“What about you?” Virgil asked quickly, though he already knew the answer. Faustine had also made a vow to Virgil’s father.

Fasutine just shook her head. “Go, Virgil!”

The doors swung open and, with one more glance back, Virgil spurred the horse into action. He was a fast one, one of the fastest ones in the stable. But he would never be able to outrun the calvary. Not without help.

Virgil dipped into the reserves of his magic. It was draining out of his body with his blood and he knew that he only had enough for a couple of spells, but he managed to catch a tiny dot of it.

“Ride,” he whispered to the horse, his eyelids drooping. “ _Ride with the wind._ ”

The magic exploded out violently. Wind howled in Virgil's ears, whipping his cloak around his body. Fortune hissed as the horse neighed loudly, but it worked. With those words, the horse sped up, faster than he had been before, faster than any steed naturally was.

Behind him,Virgil heard the calls of the guards. _The cowards_. And ahead of him, he could see the drawbridge being raised. But the horse didn't stop. Virgil tightened his grip, leaning in with the horse as he jumped the distance between the bridge. The jolt wracked Virgil’s body and the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. Still the horse didn’t stop.

They stampeded out onto the streets, startling the late night townspeople. Citizens shouted at him, called after him, cursed him out. They were completely unaware that their dying prince lurked underneath the hood. _Good_ , he thought, _they won't witness my failure._

The gates of the city loomed in front of him and he raised a wary gaze to them. But they didn’t close, even as he rushed through them, startling the half-asleep guards on duty. It was a good sign; it meant he outran the messengers and the bellringers. When he glanced back, he saw no other horses, just the confused foot soldiers. 

Cobblestone turned to dirt, the bells tolled, and lights popped to life in the gatekeepers’ windows. Cries rose up through the night, the sounds of charging steeds filling the previously still air. The city exploded into chaos. Virgil urged the horse more. The chaos, he hoped, would slow the soldiers.

Trees began to rise around him and he veered into the forest, off the trail. The steed didn’t hesitate, didn’t pause for the briefest moment as he leaped over a collection of bushes. Whoever he belonged to, he’d been trained well.

Branches caught at Virgil’s skin and clothing, but he hardly noticed the scratches blossoming across his body. At some point, his hood fell from his head. Fortune let out a yowl and Virgil looked back, spotting the lights bouncing on the trail. The shouts travelled through the silent forest, growing darker around Virgil by the second.

 _Faster_. He needed to go faster.

But he could already feel his grip on the reins loosening, his body swaying atop the saddle, his soul giving up. He was going to die. _Fuck_. He was really going to die tonight.

Virgil let out a sharp gasp as the ache spread from his abdomen to his chest. Unconsciously, both of his hands flew up to cover the wound. He slid. With a small yelp, he caught the reins and righted himself.

He glanced back. The lights and shouts had faded into the distance without him realizing. But he didn’t stop. He _couldn't_. Not until he was safe. Safe. Would he ever be safe again?

Virgil's thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the pain spread down his legs. He cried out softly and slumped forward. Fortune pawed at his chest. Had Ophiuchus poisoned him somehow?

Blue flames filled Virgil's vision, flames his brother created. He didn't know any magic that created _blue_ flames; fire magic was rare in and of itself. Blue fire? Was it some kind of magic Virgil hadn’t been taught? Or, was it a forbidden magic?

Virgil shook the thoughts from his head. If he survived the night, he could worry about it then. But for now, he needed to survive. Virgil whispered, the last dregs of his own magic slipping from between his lips. "Balance," he muttered, voice on the edge of a sob. His body continued to sway and tilt and he clenched his teeth against the new pain blossoming along his spine. " _Balance_."

He needed to stay awake. Virgil blinked rapidly. Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awa-

One last thought echoed through Virgil’s head as he was lost to the world. One promise. One vow. _I swear,_ Ophiuchus had hissed, eyes glowing yellow in the firelight of the throne room, _I swear I will kill you, little brother._

* * *

Logan awoke with a start, a shout caught in his throat. Around him, his chambers were still, save for the soft breathing and half-squeaks of his familiar at the edge of his bed. He heaved in a couple of sharp breaths and pressed a hand to his chest. This was not a normal dream.

He lurched out of bed, throwing his sheets aside as he reached for his glasses and shoved them onto his face. Crofter startled awake with a snort, but Logan barely spared the red-brown marmot a glance. **_What are you doing, Logan?_** Crofter asked as he hopped down from the bed.

Logan didn’t respond. He crossed the room and threw the window open, breaking the silencing spell on the glass. Immediately, sound filled the room. The tolling of bells, the blare of horns, and the shouts and calls of soldiers down below. Because Logan’s room was on one of the highest floors in the Mage Tower, the disarray looked miniscule to him. And, he knew, it _was_ miniscule.

He could see his nightmare still, vivid in his eyes. The capital burning, buildings collapsed, the castle and Mage Tower nothing more than rubble. Masoth fallen. And at the center of where the castle once stood, a blue-eyed man with golden white hair. And, Logan realized as he conjured the image again. Prince Virgil with his dark violet eyes and signature black clothing, kneeling behind the other man.

 ** _Logan?_** Crofter’s squeaky voice pulled Logan from his mind.

“I had a vision,” Logan said as he reached for his robes. “I must tell the Grand Master.”

Logan glanced down at his familiar as he passed him. The marmot peered up at him in confusion. **_Can’t it wait until morning?_** he asked. **_I think something is happening in the city. We should help._**

“That doesn’t matter,” Logan snapped. He yanked on his robes, running his fingers through his dark brown hair in place of a comb. “Nothing else matters right now.”

Crofter scurried in front of Logan, coming to stop in front of the door. The racket outside had not stopped and Logan considered closing the window. He shook his head. He needed to wake his Master first and then worry about the nonsense down below. “I need you to move, Crofter,” he told his familiar.

The marmot didn’t budge. **_Master will be upset if you wake him_ **.

Logan rolled his eyes and picked Crofter up despite his squeak of protest. “With everything going on outside,” Logan said. “I guarantee he is already awake.”

He knew his words to be true when he opened the door. At least half of the mages in the tower were already awake, some stumbling out of their rooms, others hurrying past without hesitation. All of them were headed for the Grand Master’s chambers, where they would receive instruction. Either they would be sent down to help organize the chaos or they would return to their rooms to let the soldiers deal with it.

Logan held Crofter close to him as he shoved his way through the halls. Most people moved out of the way when they saw his face. He outranked nearly all of them and their respect for him showed. He pushed forward a little quicker.

When the white door of the Master’s room came into view, Logan slipped out of the crowd and up the steps. No one else dared to attempt such a thing. After all, they were just mages under the Grand Master but Logan Blackless was the Grand Master’s protege. Logan dropped Crofter onto the floor as he opened the door and ducked into the room. He felt the slight pull of protection spells around him, but they didn’t react at all.

Magnus Grimrance was still in his sleeping robes, bent over a tome, his lips pursed into a thin line. Logan knew that the Grand Master was well over two hundred years old, but the old man hardly showed it. 

Along his hairline was a mere peppering of white, the rest of his head a dark chestnut brown. His beard was small and neatly trimmed and his skin betrayed only a few wrinkles, worry lines etched into his forehead and crow’s feet around his eyes. Magnus’s eyes were the only thing that showed his age. They were a stormy gray, nearly white, and coated in a glassy sheen. His body had won the fight against time, but his eyes had lost.

Magnus’s familiar, a large black raven called Nero, sat on the mage’s shoulder. Nero swivelled his head around to look at Logan and Crofter. Magnus turned a fraction of a second later, not quite focused on where Logan was. He was blind and Nero was his eyes.

“Prince Virgil has fled,” Magnus said. Logan liked Magnus’s voice. It sounded like the crisp of old parchment, sharp and clear, but also worn and familiar. “He attempted to kill the new King.”

Logan did not care much for the politics of the ruling families. He was a mage. He had always _been_ a mage and he always would be. Magnus himself had seen rulers come and go, keeping close bonds with them as was his duty as Grand Master, but his own world, the world of magic study, was unaffected by the change in rulers.

“That explains the noise,” Logan said.

Magnus laughed, though Logan didn’t know what was funny. Nero turned his head back to the book, but Magnus’s unseeing gaze remained on Logan. “Do you think they need our help?” Magnus asked with a slow blink.

Logan didn’t understand why Magnus was asking him. The Grand Master acted as he wished. Aside from the occasional discussion with a small council, he didn’t consult anyone but his own wisdom. Nero looked back at Logan and Logan adjusted his glasses. “I am not sure, Master,” Logan answered honestly. “The guards will likely catch him.”

The Grand Master nodded before he turned and said something to Nero in a low voice. The raven cawed in response before flying off. Like with all familiars, Nero was only able to speak to Magnus. But unlike other familiars, the appearance of only Nero outside of the chambers meant that the mages would not act.

Magnus turned a page on the book he couldn’t read without Nero. “You didn’t come here to ask about the commotion outside,” the Grand Master said. Logan stiffened; his Master was right, as always. “What troubles you, my child?”

Logan tried not to bristle at being called a “child”. He understood that Magnus meant it affectionately, but Logan was a grown man and he did not like the term when applied to himself. Still, he didn’t say anything. Magnus had given Logan the world— _more_ than the world—and the least he could do was accept whatever endearment the ancient mage gave him. At his feet, Crofter huffed out a laugh and Logan toed him with his foot in irritation.

“I had a vision,” Logan said. No need to beat around the bush.

The Grand Master blinked slowly before he shuffled out from behind the desk. He used his hands to guide him and Logan dashed forward. He caught the Grand Master's arm, helping him sit in one of the many plush chairs spread throughout the room. Magnus shook him off. Logan stepped back.

"Are you certain it was a vision?" Magnus questioned.

Logan understood his Master's reluctance in accepting Logan's words. Logan excelled in every field of magical study. From flame magic to practical applications, he was one of the most capable mages in the Order despite being quite young by mage standards. But he tended to stumble on one field: the art of precognition. 

Logan didn't like to be reminded of his failings. He crossed his arms over his chest as if that would bar any criticism from Magnus. "I am sure," he said. 

Magnus gestured for Logan to continue and Logan told him the dream, down to the smallest detail. When he was done, Magnus pinched the bridge of his nose. Nero swooped in through the open window, settling on the back of the seat.

"I must consult Cassandra about this," Magnus said after a moment. He raised his hand and a book zipped off of one of the shelves, skirting inches from Logan's face. "And you're sure it was Prince Virgil?"

Logan paused. He'd only met the younger prince a handful of times. He was very handsome, much more attractive than his brother. Just a fraction taller than Logan with eerie violet eyes, the eyes of the late Queen. Prince Virgil was shadows, dark attire and dark hair with a quiet, contemplative nature about him. Logan did not know him well, but he was fairly unforgettable.

"Yes," Logan responded. "And I did not recognize the man with him."

"Okay," Magnus said, thumbing open the book in his lap. "Thank you, Logan. You may return to your chambers now. I will call on you tomorrow after I speak with Cassandra."

Logan blinked, not moving from his spot. That was it? That was all the Grand Master had to say about this disastrous future? No, there had to be more to this. Perhaps Logan should join the chase? Find the prince with tracking magic? A dozen scenarios ran through Logan's head of everything he could do to stop this from happening.

Nero looked up from the book, tilting his head. Crofter pawed at Logan's leg, but he shook his familiar off. "You may leave, Logan," the Grand Master said again.

"But-" Logan hissed out in a whisper. He bit down on his tongue to stop himself from saying something he would regret. He gave a small, short nod. "Yes, Grand Master Magnus. I will speak with you tomorrow."

"Good night."

Logan turned back to the door woodenly, stooping for only a second to pick Crofter up again. **_The Grand Master knows what he's doing, Logan_ **, Crofter said.

Logan knew that. He trusted his Master's judgement. Of course he did. But he couldn't stop the unease that settled over his bones.

**Author's Note:**

> This is only the first part of the story "Of the Sun and Moon". Please follow the series to be updated as they come out because they will each be under a different story.
> 
> Some basic notes about the story:  
> Virgil is a prince.  
> Logan is a mage.  
> Roman is a knight.  
> Patton is a innkeeper.
> 
> The story will initially be Moxiety & Logince, but it will eventually become LAMP.
> 
> Enjoy!


End file.
